Blandings Castle and Elsewhere Read Online Free PDF

The moment his lordship returns from London,
I tender my resignation. Eighteen years have I served in his
lordship's household, commencing as under-footman and rising
to my present position, but now the end has come.'
    'You don't mean you're going just because his lordship has
grown a beard?'
    'It is the only way, Mrs Twemlow. That beard is weakening
his lordship's position throughout the entire country-side. Are
you aware that at the recent Sunday school treat I heard cries of
"Beaver!"?'
    'No!'
    'Yes! And this spirit of mockery and disrespect will spread.
And, what is more, that beard is alienating the best elements in
the County. I saw Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe look very sharp at
it when he dined with us last Friday.'
    'It is not a handsome beard,' admitted the housekeeper.
    'It is not. And his lordship must be informed. As long as I
remain in his lordship's service, it is impossible for me to speak.
So I shall tender my resignation. Once that is done, my lips will
no longer be sealed. Is that buttered toast under that dish, Mrs
Twemlow?'
    'Yes, Mr Beach. Take a slice. It will cheer you up.'
    'Cheer me up!' said the butler, with a hollow laugh that
sounded like a knell.
    It was fortunate that Lord Emsworth, seated at the time of
this conversation in the smoking-room of the Senior Conservative
Club in London, had no suspicion of the supreme calamity
that was about to fall upon him; for there was already much upon
his mind.
    In the last few days, indeed, everything seemed to have gone
wrong. Angus McAllister, his head-gardener, had reported an
alarming invasion of greenfly among the roses. A favourite and
respected cow, strongly fancied for the Milk-Giving Jerseys
event at the forthcoming Cattle Show, had contracted a mysterious
ailment which was baffling the skill of the local vet. And on
top of all this a telegram had arrived from his lordship's younger
son, the Hon. Frederick Threepwood, announcing that he was
back in England and desirous of seeing his father immediately.
    This, felt Lord Emsworth, as he stared bleakly before him at
the little groups of happy Senior Conservatives, was the most
unkindest cut of all. What on earth was Freddie doing in
England? Eight months before he had married the only daughter
of Donaldson's Dog-Biscuits, of Long Island City, in the
United States of America; and in Long Island City he ought
now to have been, sedulously promoting the dog-biscuit industry's
best interests. Instead of which, here he was in London – and,
according to his telegram, in trouble.
    Lord Emsworth passed a hand over his chin, to assist
thought, and was vaguely annoyed by some obstacle that
intruded itself in the path of his fingers. Concentrating his
faculties, such as they were, on this obstacle, he discovered it
to be his beard. It irritated him. Hitherto, in moments of stress,
he had always derived comfort from the feel of a clean-shaven
chin. He felt now as if he were rubbing his hand over seaweed;
and most unjustly – for it was certainly not that young man's
fault that he had decided to grow a beard – he became aware of
an added sense of grievance against the Hon. Freddie.
    It was at this moment that he perceived his child approaching
him across the smoking-room floor.
    'Hullo, guv'nor!' said Freddie.
    'Well, Frederick?' said Lord Emsworth.
    There followed a silence. Freddie was remembering that he
had not met his father since the day when he had slipped into the
latter's hand a note announcing his marriage to a girl whom
Lord Emsworth had never seen – except once, through a telescope,
when he, Freddie, was kissing her in the grounds of
Blandings Castle. Lord Emsworth, on his side, was brooding
on that phrase 'in trouble,' which had formed so significant a
part of his son's telegram. For fifteen years he had been reluctantly
helping Freddie out of trouble; and now, when it had
seemed that he was off his hands for ever, the thing had started
all over again.
    'Do sit down,' he said testily.
    Freddie had